Abluvion
by TheCreepingLullaby
Summary: Slash, T-Bag/Michael, AU, Michael is a candidate for trail experimentation. A small detail that hasn't been voiced to him. He meets some interesting characters in Pen- the enclosure for prison and medical candidates. Story is on break. More asap!
1. Chapter 1

*****

Cold…It was so cold. Bright lights burned his retinas almost to the point of blindness and Michael squeezed his eyes shut tightly. The air was dank and had the repugnant smell of chemicals. His biceps swelled in protest at the firm grip of the strange men he, at first, assumed were hospital staff. He thought he might have another nosebleed.

Hours earlier Michael had been waiting with his older brother, Lincoln, at a hospital for a scheduled operation for his brain aneurysm. The doctors had predicted a very small percentile of a chance that he would survive surgery, but he and Linc had been hopeful. None of this explained why he was here now.

As soon as he had been dressed in his hospital gown the two thugs, dragging him to God knew where, had showed up at his room in blue scrubs. After realizing their apparent nonexistent association with the hospital, he had tried his damnedest to protest, but with the searing migraine and the oncoming nosebleed he had given up.

Michael was pushed into a large room, noticing first that it was inhabited by a few dozen other men in hospital gowns. Michael whipped his head around as the sliding opaque doors were closed with a beep from one of the thug's ID bracelets.

The other men wandering about donned various designs of hospital gowns. Some of these men appeared to have formed groups. Others rested in corners reclusively or rambled meaninglessly around the enclosure.

Michael felt out wide in the open and alone. "Where am I," he asked himself timorously.

He was tapped on the shoulder unexpectedly and he twirled to face his adversary. Instead he was met with a young and kind face. The man could have been in his late twenties, or possibly his early thirties like Michael himself. The man's hair was set in a bleached 'hawk and he had a small cleft in his chin. "New, huh," the gravely voice asserted. "My name's Jason." Jason stuck out his hand for Michael to shake. Michael took the hand cautiously with a slack grasp.

"I think there's been a mistake," he expressed, upset. As soon as his hand left Jason's he clasped it together with his other awkwardly behind his back.

Jason chuckled. "Oh, there's been no mistake. What are you, prison or medical?"

Michael scrunched his brows together in confusion, "What does that mean?"

He sighed, "Did they take you from a prison, or did they take you from a hospital?"

"Hospital."

Jason gave a sly grin. "Thought so."

Feeling uncomfortable about his own vulnerability, Michael posed a question, "Where did they take you from?"

Giving a jokingly predatory look at Michael, he intoned, "Prison." He winked.

"Hey, Maytag," a man of small stature shouted. Jason rolled his eyes at Michael with a smile. The man strolled like a cat up to the pair, roving his sharp brown eyes over Michael's form in a way that gave Michael chills. "Well, aint you just a pretty thang."

He draped his arm across Jason's shoulders. "I was just asking the new meat here where he came from. He's Medical," Jason explained coolly.

The man drew his bottom lip between his teeth and sucked. "I bet he is," the man said in a rumbling Alabamian accent.

Jason ignored him and continued to question Michael. "So, what do ya have? It's not contagious is it," he asked nervously. "'Cause then you might want to sit at /that/ section of Pen." He pointed to a part of the room where dreary individuals were propped against the wall. "No one else needs to share your predicament," Jason added gloomily.

Michael kept his eyes trained on the southerner, but answered Jason's question. "No, nothing contagious, I have a brain aneurysm. I was supposed to be in surgery today."

Jason looked as if he might feel sorry for him. The other man, however, kept staring intently and it was a bit unnerving. "Aren't yuh gonna introduce us properly, Maytag?" His eyes never left Michael.

Jason looked at the two of them with a frown. "Oh, um, this is T-Bag and this is…," Jason scratched the back of his head embarrassedly. "I'm sorry, I never asked for your name."

"It's Michael," he replied curtly. "Where were you taken from T-Bag," Michael instantly inquired. He had a feeling he already knew.

T-Bag adopted the same look from Jason earlier, "Prison." At Michael's expression he chuckled.

Michael was uneasy as he shifted his weight from side to side. "What did you two do?"

T-Bag leaned in close to Michael peering up into his face. "Just a little murder here and there, nothin' to worry about, Pretty."

*****


	2. Chapter 2

*****

Michael and Jason rested their backs against a huge white pole at the center of Pen. Michael's feet were freezing on the frosty cement floor and he wondered if Jason suffered as well, Jason pulled his feet in closer to his body. He scooted absentmindedly closer to Michael as they watched T-Bag conversing with other Prison and Medical, albeit Michael with a more bored air than Jason.

Michael turned his head in interest to gaze at Jason, whom was staring fondly at T-Bag. With a twitching finger to his lip and a small breath Michael asked, "Why does T-Bag call you Maytag? I mean isn't that…," he trailed uncomfortably, willing Jason to fill in the blanks as he observed T-Bag rough housing with someone Michael suspected to be a Medical.

"A prison term for a submissive male sex slave," Jason finished, "Yeah, I know." He grinned at Michael. "Before we were taken here, I was his Maytag. He took care of me, ya know?"

Michael nodded his head in a positive response, but what he really wanted to say was 'no,' because he really /didn't/ understand.

Michael tangled his fingers in his hospital gown and studied the strain he was putting on his hands. "So," he paused, "Who did you kill to get in prison?" He monitored Jason from the corner of his eye tensely.

Jason searched Michael's face briefly for something and seeming to find it, reclined back and closed his jade eyes, speaking. "My father, real bastard that he was, used to beat me sometimes. I had enough one day." He opened his eyes and stared hard at the blinding lights on the ceiling looking forlorn.

Now this Michael could understand. He had spent most of his childhood with several different foster families and not all of them had been as kind as the next. "I see," he replied despondently.

Michael leant toward Jason more comfortably and let Jason's shoulder brush his. "You probably have questions, right," Jason inquired, nudging his elbow lightly into Michael's side.

"There has been a few things bothering me," he shifted his position to twist his body toward Jason. "Why are we here? Why did they choose me? Why did they choose any of us? Why from prisons and hospitals?"

Jason laughed turning to face Michael too. "Whoa, buddy. Can you put a pause between each of those questions so I can give you some good answers?" They both smiled at each other despite the situation and Jason continued, "They haven't told us why, but there's been rumors. Some of the others here think we've been taken to Pen to be test subjects for experimental treatments, you know, like trail runs. As for 'why us,' it's a known fact we're all expendable, murderers on death row, patients with low survival rates. All anyone on the outside has to know is that we've died, whether by capital punishment or during an operation, and no one will ever look for us."

Jason looked apprehensively at him as Michael clutched his head in pain. "No," he started, "My brother will look for me. He won't buy that," he said determinedly with a slight glare.

Jason touched Michael's forehead gently. "Are you okay, man?" His other hand was placed against Michael's chest in a reassuring manner. Michael hung onto his head with both hands now, not answering. Jason felt wet warmth drip onto his hand. He jerked the hand back in reaction and blanched at the blood dribbling from it. "Someone help me! He's bleeding," Jason hollered. Michael's body dropped to the floor and Jason held him while several Prison and Medical rushed over.

"Get out of the way," a man said, pushing Jason from Michael's side and taking over. He maneuvered Michael's body to lie on its side so the blood could flow from his nose, diminishing the threat of drowning. Michael watched the man blearily, as if looking through a fogged window. They sat still together as the nosebleed passed.

"Can you hear me kid," he questioned. Michael groaned pressing himself to sit up.

Jason hurried over grabbing his shoulder and peering into his face fixedly. "Is he going to be okay, Alex?" He glanced in the man's direction.

Alex stared with his vivid cerulean eyes into Michael's glazed grey ones. "He'll be alright, for now," he ensured.

The Scrub Thugs dashed in at the last minute driving people away and circled Michael. Medical and Prison backed away and peeked around the men for a glimpse of Michael in sick curiosity.

A miniature flashlight was shined in his eyes, up his nose, and into his mouth. One of the Scrub Thugs ran a hand across his breast bone and down his chest finally finishing. He patted Michael's cheek in a demeaning show of affection. "He's stable."

They stood together dressed in their strange blue scrubs and mysterious masks, moving onto the area Jason had anointed the 'contagious' section of Pen.

Jason wrapped an arm around Michael's waist and helped him stand. T-Bag emerged from the right of his vision and gripped his other side. He was dragged to a far corner in Pen, away from the Contagious and the Scrub Thugs.

*****


	3. Chapter 3

*****

"Yuh alright, Pretty? Causin' such a stir and whatnot," T-Bag murmured. He grabbed Michael's chin and scrutinized the dried blood crusting along his nostrils.

With a heated glower Jason batted T-Bag's hands away. "You're smothering him."

"Well, yuh're smotherin' me," he hissed, crossly.

"Hey boys," a voice reprimanded, "Let me take a look at our patient now that the Scrub Thugs are busy," Alex rasped. Now that Michael could get a better look at the man, he seemed to be the Medical T-Bag was tussling with earlier.

"You two know this guy," Michael asked, warily.

T-Bag gave a toothy grin at Alex. "This here Pretty, is Officer Alexander Mahone."

Michael looked at Alex incredulously, "Officer?"

Alex put a hand out for Michael to shake, "Yes, Chicago's Finest," he smiled as they shook hands firmly, "So…Pretty," Alex asked with a raised brow.

Jason laughed. "You know T-Bag. He just /had/ to give Michael his own nickname."

Alex was evidently in his early forties, attractive for his age, with lightly freckled skin and sandy colored hair. He crouched down closer to Michael and examined his grey eyes closely. "As you can probably tell, I'm Medical," he said, distractedly.

Michael had noticed. Although Alex was good-looking, he was rather gaunt and pallid. "What's wrong with you, if you don't mind me asking," Michael uttered reticently.

"Severely weakened immune system brought on from a great deal of self prescribed medication," he replied without pause, "They say I have anywhere from now to a few years to live."

Jason and Michael gave him poignant looks as T-Bag leant back against a cement wall enervated. T-Bag viewed Michael from the corner of a dark brown eye when he thought no one was looking and his eyes connected with Michael's.

To make the conversation more light-hearted Jason gave a small smirk at Michael, chatting, "You know, when Alex arrived here, he was the hardest guy to get along with, now he's stuck to us like glue."

T-Bag snickered. "Yeah, 5-O's a real piece of work. I don' know what we'd do without 'im though."

Alex slapped him upside the head playfully earning a frown back. "Careful T-Bag, the others might think you've grown fond of me. What would remain of your reputation then," he said teasingly.

T-Bag glared mischievously. "Well, then maybe you should grab a hold of my pocket. No one would question me then."

"Very funny, you don't even have any pockets," Alex said further, scoffing.

"Even if I did, I would've asked for Pretty to hold it." T-Bag grinned wickedly at Michael.

"T that isn't funny," Jason scorned. He glanced at Michael and T-Bag briefly with a melancholic countenance.

"'Member what I said 'bout you smotherin' me," he snarled. He looked to Alex, "Come on, 5-O, we've got some business with a certain Sicilian." T-Bag and Alex stood, T-Bag with a fierce face and Alex with a troubled one.

Michael and Jason watched as the other men made their way through the crowd in Pen. "God, I can't stand it," Jason's jaw tightened. "I think T has a crush on you," Jason whispered. "I've never seen him flirting with anyone before." He rubbed his brow, "Well, besides…"

"You," Michael finished. "How can you even take that?"

"He /does/ care for me," Jason reinforced, "We just don't get along as well as we used to. And you…you're young and new and pretty. It doesn't help that you act so vulnerable."

"I'm acting vulnerable?" Michael clenched his fists. "I'm sick, okay? I can't believe you even said that!"

"Then maybe you should stop making eyes at him, okay? 'Cause he's mine," Jason shouted. A number of Prison and Medical stared.

Michael got to his feet hastily. "I'm not doing anything and I think you're being absurd. I can't even believe I thought I could get to know any of you." Michael was bumping Medical and Prison as he made his way through the mass, irritably.

"Wait, Michael I didn't…" Jason let his reaching arm fall to his lap. He rose and followed Michael into the pack.

They weaved through the throng of people, Michael farther ahead than Jason, till Jason couldn't see Michael's cropped black hair anymore.

Jason stilled himself in the crowd and several other men smacked into his shoulders gauchely on their route. He was alone now, and so too would be Michael.

*****


	4. Chapter 4

*****

Michael broke from the crowd and reached another far wall of Pen. He supported himself against the bitter barrier taking an exhausted lungful of dank air. He had never wished so much for a window.

"Where the fuck, can a guy get a cigarette around here," said a hoarse infuriated voice. The man waved his arms in a dramatic gesture at the horde of other candidates, whom paid no attention to him, with a huge puff.

He arrived at the same hedge and sat haughtily on the fractured floor nearly pulling his short russet hair out in aggravation. The man went on, "I swear to God, if I don't get a cigarette, those assholes in blue scrubs will get my foot shoved up their asses!"

Michael wiped his sweaty brow and chuckled to himself. "Hey," the man said, directing his attention to Michael whom looked over. "What's so funny, Blue Eyes," the man requested irately. His own brown eyes scanned over Michael. "Hell, where did they pick you up, Models 'R' Us?"

He gave a weary grin at the man. "Was that a compliment?"

He rolled his eyes at Michael. "I'm pretty sure there was sarcastic emphasis in there somewhere."

Michael relaxed, sitting down next to the man whom reacted with an indignant huff. "God, you pay attention to someone for two seconds and they cling to you like a paper clip," the man said exasperatedly.

He grinned at the man. "What's your name," Michael asked.

The man shifted awkwardly and stared suspiciously at him, "Why do you want to know?"

Michael turned back to face the throng of lost faces. "I just thought that since we're both trapped in this hellhole we could ease the tension by talking," he murmured.

Realizing the sudden miserable visage of the younger man he elbowed him in the ribs tenderly. "This isn't going to be like twenty questions, is it," he said and snorted kindly.

Michael shook his head and initiated the conversation, "I'm Michael Scofield."

"Paul Kellerman." Short clipped and to the point, very businesslike.

"So, Paul, are you Prison or Medical?" Michael waited earnestly. Paul looked hardened, but thin, dangerous, yet ordinary. Michael was getting strange vibes.

"What the hell does that mean," Paul inquired.

Michael gawked with a confused expression. "You're new?"

Paul gaped at Michael as if he should already know the answer and theatrically motioned with his hands as he spoke. "Of course, I was just shoved in here a couple hours ago."

Michael became more comfortable. "Well, at least we have one thing in common."

Paul's face tightened. "You're new too?"

"Yeah. So, were you taken from a hospital or a prison," Michael asked sympathetically.

Paul looked around at the hundreds of barely dressed men abstractedly. "Hospital, I've been diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer, you?"

"Same, I have a brain aneurysm. It's fatal." The air between them seemed to thicken and Michael and Paul felt a quasi-connection. Michael broke eye contact to study a chink in the cement floor.

Paul gave Michael a small grimace disguised as a smile and stared at the crack in the floor with him. "Wow, we're fucked up. Is everyone here fucked up? You know, in the beginning I had so much hope that I would get better. I mean, I was too young to die, right? Thirty-seven," he babbled, filling in the emptiness, "That was nothing. I'm not even middle-aged yet." Paul stared at him even though Michael's eyes were fixed intently on the crack. He carried on, "I started on drugs and medication and for awhile I got better. I thought maybe with this second chance it was time to have a family and," a pause, "I met her. She was young and beautiful, too naïve for her own good. …And then I was sick again. The doctors told me I wouldn't be able to have children," he gave a long sigh. "I took more drugs, different drugs, alternative treatments, surgery." Paul's face was pinched and he stroked a hand over his face. "One day…she told me one day that she was leaving. She didn't want to care for a husband who was ill, she was too young for that, she wanted to have children, a normal life, and she was just…done. She said she loved me, but that she was done. She couldn't handle it. And ever since I've been alone. I am alone." The last was given with such finality that Michael cringed.

What could Michael say to that? "Cunt," he blurted.

Paul laughed. "Excuse me?"

"I said, what a cunt."

A tiny smirk twitched at Paul's lips. "Yeah, I guess she was."

They sat in relative silence. The silence was placating and unusual in a bizarre way that neither Michael nor Paul could place.

A burly man with a graying beard approached them vehemently. "Hey, you two! Get the fuck off my wall," he shouted, eyes locking with Paul's.

Paul smiled charmingly. "Pardon, me, Mr.-," he trailed to allow the man to fill in the blanks.

"You can call me Avocado," was his smug reply.

"Yeah, well, 'Avocado'," Paul stressed the man's name mockingly, "I think you should leave. We were here first."

Michael looked on worriedly. Avocado was a mountain of a man and Paul and him were of average height and build, if not more slender. "No, it's okay, Paul. Let's just go somewhere else," he said, tugging at Paul's hospital gown. Michael knew when to give up.

He unexpectedly drew Avocado's attention who leered at Michael dauntingly. "Well, what do we have here? Is this your bitch, 'Paul'," he questioned, stressing Paul's name as Paul had done earlier. "You did good for a newbie. Scratch what I said before, leave him here and there'll be no problem."

There was a great confidence in Paul's voice and Michael wondered if it was false bravado at a sad attempt to deter Avocado. "I don't think so. Since he's /my/ 'bitch', don't I have some kind of claim to him?"

Avocado laughed quietly. "Not if you know what's good for ya. Lil' Medical like you, I'd get my sorry ass outta here."

A depraved twinkle in Paul's dark brown eyes caught Michael's interest. Paul beamed at Avocado heinously and brought his face closer to the larger man's, whispering, "You have no clue who you're messing with do you?"

Affronted by Paul's domineering display Avocado raised a fist to Paul's face. "Now, listen here ya lil'-," he was stopped in mid rant by a fierce grip on his raised fist.

Michael sat in awe of the gravely ill man's force of muscle against Avocado's trembling fist. Voice wavering, Michael asked the readily standing man whom was at his defense, "Who are you?"

"I'm Lack Jink's Number One Beef Jerky Salesman."


	5. Chapter 5

Michael stood rigid in shock as he watched a muscle jumping and quivering beneath the pallid skin of Paul's forearm while said man held back the hefty man's angry red fist. Paul pulled his other balled hand back quickly, pushing it forward scantily, grazing Avocado's chin. The large man stumbled back in surprise seeming to wobble before he sprang at Paul with a flurry of sloppy hits. The smaller man's arms rushed to shield his face as he was caught between the fractured buttress wall and Avocado's callous cuffs.

Michael could not watch this dire scene playing out before him any longer. He leapt into action instantaneously throwing himself against Avocado's back and wrapping his thin upper limbs across Avocado's bulging neck. As Avocado held and mashed the scrabbling Paul against the drab concrete with his lower arm, his other hand caught one of Michael's white lanky arms and squeezed. He gasped as his arm was crushed under the man's harsh grip.

*****

"Whaddya say, John? Do we have a deal?" T-Bag gave a crooked grin at John's contemplating face and winked maliciously in his buoyancy at Alex whom nodded stoically in knowing. John scrutinized T-bag carefully. Like him the man was a Prison. It must have been for murder, but the slighter man had never told a soul inside these partitions if there was any truth in the rumors.

John held his hand out reluctantly and they shook on it. "You have a deal," he rasped.

T-Bag turned around smiling with a flourish. His half lidded eyes instantly searched out for Jason and Michael at their normal spot. Alex shifted so that his shoulders aligned with T-Bag's and so he could walk alongside him easier. It was then that he noticed the other man's unusually stiff appearance.

Alex stared at their spot and finally realized as T-Bag spoke, "Where in the hell's Maytag?"

*****

The dark-skinned man gripped Jason's bicep loosely pulling him toward himself as he backed away into the throng of brightly hospital gowned men. "Chico bonito, ven conmigo."

Jason yanked back his arm. "Let go of my arm," he voiced urgently. Jason recognized this man immediately. This man was part of Avocado's faction. He looked for T-Bag through the robed men and failed to find him. He gazed back worriedly at the man. "Miguel," he whispered, "I can't do this right now. I need to find my friend."

Miguel towered over Jason, despite his race's stereotype, and his black locks tickled Jason's chin as he was grabbed again. "No, necesitas venir para tu amigo."

Jason exhaled noisily but let himself be dragged. "I don't understand. What are you saying?"

Miguel sighed and glanced around Pen apprehensively. "The man, you know pretty one?" he elaborated with a thick Hispanic accent. "The one I see you with? My boss, he told to bring man to Scrub Thug. That one with the…how say…," he pointed to his eyes.

"You mean the weirdo with the glasses?" Jason's eyes widened with surprise.

Miguel nodded enthusiastically at Jason's understanding. "Si, si. He come by himself."

"He was alone? I've never heard of a Scrub Thug coming to Pen outside of their schedule."

Miguel's deep brown eyes watched Jason kindly as he pulled him along. "Is close to Herding time. Maybe it have something to do with that?"

Jason was quiet in thought. Some Scrub Thug wanted to meet Michael? Glasses no less. In the few months Jason had made his home in Pen he had only had had a few encounters with Glasses. There was nothing physically wrong with the man. Nothing he could see anyway. He would probably be considered handsome if it wasn't for his strange demeanor.

Glasses was a pale man with neat black hair. His eyes were probably his most notable feature. The surgical mask that always graced the faces of the Scrub Thugs made for a stark contrast so that the man's eyes almost appeared to be two black holes behind his glasses.

*****

Michael moaned as he was shoved into the wall next to Paul by his right wrist that now lay pinned above his head. His other hand scratched frantically at the fist holding him against the wall and bright red marks were left in his nails wake.

Paul knew this had been his entire fault, but he couldn't let it get to him at a time like this. Paul's breath became shallow as he realized the advantage of Avocado's close proximity. In a quick burst of strength his knee shot up and connected with the sordid man's abdomen with a loud thump.

The air rushed from Avocado's lungs and he clutched his stomach in pain. Michael dropped to the floor like a rag doll, holding his wrist warily and examining with wide eyes Paul's strange disposition. Paul stood firm on his feet and Michael allowed loose a quaking pant as Paul quickly let his leg piston out in an arc across Avocado's blanching face.

Cherry colored droplets of dewy blood splattered over Paul's bare foot and across the ground.


End file.
